Page 36 of Exile (Dance with My Demons #4)

Avery

** One Year Ago **

Crash.

My choked up scream is drowned out by the shattering sound of the beer bottle smashing above my head.

I only just managed to duck out of the way—this time at least. You'd think with all the practice I'd be getting quicker, but I'm just so exhausted I find it hard to do anything now.

The only thing keeping me going is the natural urge to run.

I don't even think about it, my body just springs into action, sheltering and doing everything possible to protect.

But I can't keep running. I'm tired. And he always catches me anyway so, what's the point?

I tried to convince myself that it was just easier to take it. On the good days, it usually blows over pretty quickly and then I'm rewarded with the eerie silence I've grown to love.

This is a bad day.

It feels wrong to try to categorize my father's moods into good and bad—there's nothing but anger and hatred. Some days it's just better than others. Some days, I come out of it almost intact .

Please walk away… please.

"Worthless… exactly like your mother."

I bite down on the back of my lip, staying quiet until he walks away. But when I don't respond or acknowledge his words, he storms toward me.

"Don't… please, don't," I beg desperately, pressing myself flat against the wall behind me. Dad lets out an ill-tempered shout before grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming me face first into the ground.

A pained squeak forces its way past my vocal restraint as my hands and knees land heavily on the broken shards of glass.

Part of me wants to call for help. I stopped screaming for help a long time ago. No one ever came. And all it did was make him more upset.

"Shut up!" He roars, spit flying into my face as his fist connects with my jaw. "Shut the fuck up, Avery!"

How? How do I make it stop?

I curl into a ball as I try to shield myself from him, but that just rewards me with a kick into my stomach.

How?

There's no humanly way to stop the pained cry that slips out, no amount of strength I can muster. It still hurts so much from last week. The bruises on my lower abdomen and thighs are starting to turn that sickly shade of yellow instead of black, but everything still screams in agony .

The doctors at the hospital said it would take weeks before I fully healed. I know they were talking about the bruises and internal damage because I'll never emotionally heal from this—never recover from what he let his friend do to me.

I screamed so much that night that I lost my voice. I blame myself. If I hadn't been so loud, struggled so much, maybe it wouldn't have hurt like this.

All I remember is there were tiny little dots on the hospital ceiling. I counted them, one by one. The doctor treating me said something about reproductive scarring and inflammation but it sounded like a voice in a thick blanket of fog.

I'll likely never bear children now. Not that I'd ever condemn someone into my life, but still…

He stole it from me, and all Dad did was watch TV in the other room, completely unbothered. The volume kept increasing, the only sign that he could even hear my screams.

The doctors tried to make me feel better by telling me that at least I'll be able to have sex again—probably without pain.

That alone made me feel sick because I'll never let anyone fucking touch me again.

He stole my virginity, he stole my womanhood.

No one will ever steal from me again. I'd rather be dead.

More pain erupts from my scalp as I'm dragged across the floor. But luck must finally find me because suddenly, he lets me go with a drop, trudging over to his cell phone to answer a call.

I block out the conversation, doing my best to stay completely still, hoping I'm now a forgotten afterthought. Footsteps move toward me and I whimper, the stench of beer hitting me in the face.

"I'm meeting Marty at the tavern. Do something useful and clean this fucking shit up. Or maybe I'll just bring him here again…"

My body trembles violently at the threat, not at all stopping even as the front door slams closed and I hear his car take off down the street. He's going to fucking kill someone—if not me, then someone on the road. He doesn't even have a driver's license anymore after multiple DUIs.

That's why Martin drove him back last week… That's how he got into my bedroom while I was asleep.

No. No, no. I can't do it. I can't do it again.

Forcing myself up from the floor, I scan the living room slowly, taking in all the mess. Once upon a time there were some better memories here, but I don't remember them anymore. Did they ever really exist? I can't be sure.

This house holds more tears than an airport, more pain than a hospital. Trauma is etched into the walls, my screams embedded in plaster. There's still permanent marks from where Mom killed herself to escape and I found her lifeless, blue body.

I never understood. Why am I not enough for him ? Why wasn't I enough to make her stay ?

Why am I just not enough ? I just don't deserve to be loved—by anyone, let alone by more than one person.

A wave of calmness washes over me, my entire body suddenly feeling numb.

It ends now—all of it.

I'm not cut out for this life. I miss my mom. I miss Paige. No one here will miss me, so why even fight?

He's broken me, just like he broke Mom. But I won't let him break anyone else ever again in his house.

I'm going to burn it to the fucking ground. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find my happy ending in the ashes.

** Present Day **

I jump as another random scream fills the room. There's the sound of clattering food utensils as people hastily glance around to locate the source of the noise, before the chorus of echoing screams start.

One after the other. Again.

It's been this way all day. I'm starting to think we underestimated the situation. Perhaps we weren't prepared at all.

Slowly, it seems, the more the news sinks in about the truth behind Lilydale, the more people are processing it. Except… by processing it, I mean badly .

Someone stands up at their table, pointing toward a guard and hurling jumbled up words.

"Fuck," I hiss, sending Damon a panicky look. "It's happening again. What do we do?"

He drops his head and starts fiddling with something under the table. "I'll let Christopher know."

"The guards are moving in," Grey remarks.

"Should we do something?" I ask urgently, gripping the table.

It's too late. The guards grab the girl, sending her even further into a state of panic.

Fuck—this is all our fault. We've caused mass fear and it's a domino effect. People are spiraling at concerning rates, making it obvious that the patients know something. Now that the boulder has started rolling down the hill, we can't stop it.

"Christopher will intervene," Damon says, but there's an edge of concern to his tone that has me worried.

Dr. Smith surely can't handle all of this. Patients are dropping and losing control more and more quickly, inundating the staff as they try to calm them. Everyone is nervous, and when two other unrelated people across the room suddenly start physically fighting, I recoil in my seat.

I clap my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the sounds of flesh being hit and accompanying screams. It's still too raw, too triggering.

And we did this .

"Hey," Theo murmurs, lightly gripping my wrist to pull it away from my ear. "Breathe."

"I hate this," I respond quietly.

He nods. "Look at me."

I do, his dark eyes capturing my attention and instantly starting to ease the sickening pull in my stomach.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Grey asks, leaning into me. "We can skip class after lunch if you need some quiet space."

Shaking my head, I offer a small smile. "I'm fine," I lie, dropping my shaky hands into my lap. "It's better we are there in case anything happens."

Grey looks like he wants to argue with me but just kisses my cheek while Theo rubs comforting circles on my wrist.

"Arthur is probably going to step in soon," Damon comments. "He'll want to gain the upper hand on the situation, particularly with the looming investigation."

"This is when they need to show up," I mumble. "To see the damage."

Damon sighs. "It could be weeks before they fully investigate. And likely, they'll start with the board and all the legal side. This," he motions to some more patients being dragged out of the hall. "Isn't concrete enough evidence to back our story."

"We can't just let this continue," I argue. "People are getting hurt."

Grey rubs my arm. "I know, but this is still a damn sight better than having them downstairs. It's sad, but most people here are probably used to this on some level. They can survive it—they were unfortunately trained to do so."

"That's fucked up," I murmur dazed. Because it's the truth, isn't it?

All the times my father laid hands on me.

I learned to deal with the physical pain.

In a twisting act of surprise, it was almost an escape from the mental anguish I dealt with.

Scars fade and bruises heal, but mentally?

You can't escape that pain. It lingers long after the physical touches are gone.

"There's the bell," Damon snaps with frustration. "Are you three going to be alright?"

It's nice that he's asking all of us when we all know he's aimed it at me. I nod, forcing a smile as I glance over at him. "We'll be fine. Let's go, Grey."

Famous last words.

We were not fine. Not in the slightest.

Charmaine does her best to placate the class, but realistically, all she can do is dodge the flying desks and fists as patients tackle each other like wild animals.

Guards rush in to assist, prying people off each other and dragging them away, but things continue to escalate.

There's not a big enough ratio of guards to patients, so I'm not surprised when we're quickly screamed at that free time has been cancelled.

Everyone is ordered back to their rooms straight away, the more volatile patients forced by guards while the rest of us follow by dorm.

I throw a quick wide-eyed glance at Grey as I'm herded with a group of girls to escort back to our section of the facility, mouthing that I'll use my cell to contact him.

He angrily scans the guards surrounding us, completely oblivious to the chaos as people shout and kick around him. I silently beg him not to do anything, not to draw attention or lash out despite his obvious overwhelming need to get to me and keep me safe.

Thankfully, he remains calm, our eyes staying locked until we're pulled out of sight in different directions.

I need something else to focus on, so I take in the group I'm with, sucking in a breath when I spot Eliana. I shuffle toward her until we're walking side by side.

"Are you okay?" I ask, noticing her usual smiley face is absent.

She turns her head to face me, steps never faltering. "I don't know," she says honestly.

All I can do is nod in acknowledgment. Because like I said: we're not fine. No one is.

We've sealed the fate of every patient in here. And we have no idea what that means.